Loose End
by GracieSnow
Summary: When Hermione finds out she's had her mind altered, she can't stop thinking about it, even three years later. And the only person who can help her is the one who obliviated her in the first place, who just so happens to be Draco Malfoy. [EWE] A story told in three parts.
1. The Beginning

Standard disclaimers apply: I don't own HP.

Part One

* * *

Hermione thought about her life as a series of milestones, time points that reset her life. It had started after she had woken up from petrification during her second year at Hogwarts, when she realized everything she thought about was either before after she'd regained consciousness. In a way, she felt like her timeline should shift depending on major events that happened in Harry's life—but it didn't reset with the destruction of Tom Riddle's diary or the escape of Sirius Black. It seemed that it should reset at the beginning of each year, like so many of her classmates, especially because she was so studious. But it didn't—her mind seemed to choose random but important events to cling to as the base of her timeline. Since her kiss with Viktor, her fight with Ron, her discovery of the deathly hallows symbol in Beetle and the Bard—after the battle of Hogwarts.

The battle of Hogwarts remained time zero for a long time.

The lives lost, the weight of the moment long surpassed any other occurrence in her life, even the beginning and destruction of her fleeting relationship with Ron.

But strangely, three years after the battle, sitting with Ginny in a bar in Hogsmeade with butter beer froth on her lips, she felt it reset. Whiplashed back to time zero as she met the gaze of piercing grey eyes across the bar, she licked off the froth. There was something about that look, something painfully familiar, and Draco Malfoy looked away before she could get up and ask him what he was staring at.

* * *

Hermione dug around in her bag before looking over her shoulder to cast a quick 'accio keys'. It was becoming more and more annoying to not use magic for everyday things, despite her desire to keep some of her muggleborn habits. Her lease of the flat she was sharing with Ginny was going to be up in a month, and something about the way Harry had been staying over every night of the past six months made her think Ginny wouldn't want to renew it with Hermione. It would be another thing she'd have to worry about this month—finding another flat and roommate, if she couldn't afford the skyrocketing London prices.

As she entered, she heard Ginny call out, "Hey Hermione! How was your day?"

Removing her shoes and making her way to the kitchen, Hermione was surprised to see a large dinner spread out. "Fairly unsurprising, the bill for the house elf wages is having trouble getting passed. I'm almost exhausted, and I can't tell how much good it's going to even do. But Ginny, what's the occasion?"

Ginny's eyes sparkled, "Oh, nothing big… Just that Harry got a promotion! So we're celebrating, you should join us!"

Not wanting to impose on something that would clearly be an intimate dinner, she hedged, "How about I meet you at the pub, if you guys are going there to celebrate after?"

"Oh, that sounds perfect. You're the best!"

Taking her cue, Hermione decided it'd be better if she just had dinner herself to best avoid their celebrations, which might end rather loudly. And she might need a pint in her before they and whomever else was invited for drinks after came, especially since Ron would probably show up.

She sat at the bar and ordered a sandwich and ale, before whipping out her latest read. Completely immersing herself in it, she barely noticed before the server came over with her meal.

"Oh, and don't worry about the bill, it's been covered," the man said as he turned to leave.

"Wait, um, what?" Hermione shuffled and glanced around the bar. Immediately she saw him—Draco Malfoy, sitting alone, with a beer in hand. This would be the second time in two weeks she'd seen him, which was considerably odd since the time previous to that had been the battle at Hogwarts.

She raised and eyebrow at him and crossed her arms, hoping he would make a move. Unfazed, he simply leaned back against the wall and stared straight at her. They remained at an impasse until finally, regrettably, she swallowed her pride and walked over to him.

"Malfoy. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Granger, a delight as ever to see you." His face looked more worn than she remembered, and his classical sneer was noticeably absent.

"Why did you pay for my meal?"

"Getting straight to the point then, are we? I figured it was the only way to get your attention."

She rolled her eyes and fished a ten from her wallet. "Well, I don't need the help, thank you."

"Consider it a gift," he pushed her hand away as she tried to force the money on him. Frowning even more, she set it on the table in front of him.

"I don't accept gifts," she lowered her voice, "from death eaters. And why are you even in a muggle bar?"

He sighed and gestured for her to sit. When she didn't, he frowned. "_Former_ death eater. It has been some time, has it not? I didn't expect you to be the one to hold on to prejudices."

With that, she softened. Pulling out the chair across from him, she sat guiltily. "Okay. Fine. Now, what do you want?"

He took a long sip of his dark brew and rested it back on the table. He seemed to be struggling to start whatever he was going to say, and if she were younger she would have made a comment about it. But it was so strange to watch his cold mask awkwardly lift, so she kept her mouth shut.

"Well you see, Granger. It had come to my attention. That," he cleared his throat, "you have a problem with your memory."

Instantly, she recoiled, "What?"

Looking startled, he said, "Do you not? I was sure—"

"How could you know that?"

He relaxed immediately, and was more resolved when he spoke next. "Well, two ways. The other week I hear you talking to the she-weasel about it."

"Don't call Ginny that."

"Sorry, force of habit." He looked as awkward as Draco Malfoy could get.

"So what, you heard us talking about it? And then you paid for my dinner to get my attention? Why does it matter so much to you?" Hermione was beyond flummoxed by this entire set up. Nothing was making sense.

"Well," he scratched the back of his neck. "I was the one who obliviated you, actually."

* * *

A month after the battle of Hogwarts and Madam Pomfrey was still up to her ears at Saint Mungo's treating patients, so when she called Hermione, she knew it was serious. Hermione arrived early for her appointment, and nervously fidgeted waiting for her appointment. As soon as she was called, Madam Pomfrey ushered her into a chair in a warm, honey colored office.

"This is very nice," Hermione commented, trying to sooth her nerves.

"Ah yes, you like what I've done?"

"Yes… But straight to the point, is this about my anxiety?" Hermione blurted out before she realized. A month out and she was still a wreck, having a hard time socializing but also being alone.

"Ah, no actually, dear. But if the tonics I've given you aren't strong enough for your nerves, we can reevaluate them."

"Yes, please."

She made a note on a piece of paper and then moved it to the side. "This meeting is actually about your memory, Miss Granger. I noticed something at your last visit that seemed a bit off. After running diagnostic spells, I felt a slight discrepancy."

Hermione tried to ignore her racing heart and sweaty palms. "Oh? What do you mean?"

"It's as if… well, the best comparison I could give would be, when you bookmark a page in a book. There's just a little tag there, signifying something important. I'm not very skilled, but if you'll let me, I'd like to tug on it."

Hermione was shocked, to say the least, but agreed without much thought.

"It might be tricky, if there's more than one or two memories hidden," Madam Pomfrey warned, "but this should dislodge the one. Let me just…"

As if two soft hands were cupping her mind, Hermione felt Madam Pomfrey inspect her memories. A firm touch, a gentle pull, and a picture floated up to the surface. It was as if it were a moving picture, just one clear glimpse—sunlight, in a corridor of Hogwarts. Overlooking a garden, perhaps in the basement? A boy, blond hair so light it looked white. He turned, and gave her a smile, warmth illuminating. An unencumbered, joyous, elated smile that lifted his face and met his eyes. His grey, striking eyes.

Hermione gasped. "Draco Malfoy."

"Pardon?" Madam Pomfrey stopped, and Hermione felt the hands on her mind fade away. She shook her head, confused and murky.

"No, no. I just had the strangest—well, I supposed it couldn't have been a memory. There's no way."

Terror was sinking into her stomach and she looked up at Madam Pomfrey. "It couldn't, right? There's no way. I don't understand. Is this a trick?"

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips and closed her eyes. The pain and sorrow she'd seen this past month had been a horrible curse to bear, and Hermione—brave heroine of the war—was slowly devolving.

"Miss Granger, I am sorry. Perhaps now is not the time. I wouldn't trouble yourself with what you just saw—the mind can work in mysterious ways. Perhaps it was a recovered dream? Do not worry yourself."

The world had grown hazy for Hermione but she attempted to focus back in. Her rational self rebelled at the idea of an obliviated dream, but she tried her best to ignore it. Perhaps this was something that didn't really matter all that much, with the extent of the damage to the world from Voldemort.

"Now, let's talk about your potions… We can double your calming droughts, and I can give you another dreamless sleep. Do you think that might help?"

Hermione looked at her and nodded wordlessly.

Madam Pomfrey looked down at her paperwork and scratched out _Obliviated Memories_ on Hermione's file. "And dear, don't hesitate to ask for more, okay? Let's get you back to right as rain."

* * *

In the present, Hermione sat across from Malfoy with her jaw dropped and eyes widened in disbelief.

"You can't be serious," she said after a minute, when her voice returned to her.

"I am."

"But—what? When? How?" She narrowed her eyes, "And why? Also, why wait until now to say something?"

He cleared his throat and nodded. "Yes, well. When I heard you talking to the Weasley Daughter about it, I… felt that I should tell you. In case, well."

She rolled her eyes, "Out with it, Malfoy. It isn't like you to dawdle."

"Yes, well I wasn't ever going to say anything," he snapped.

"Then why are you?" she countered.

"Because—last week, when you were talking about it—you were so sad. Said you couldn't imagine what those memories were, and why they were taken from you. Said you hadn't stopped thinking about them since Madam Pomfrey told you they existed, but every Healer out there won't touch the memories with a ten-foot broomstick, if they even believe you that they're there."

She drew a breath sharply, and leaned away from him. "You little sneak. You listened to our whole conversation! You had no right."

"I never claimed to be the most morally righteous git out there," he shot back. "And you're correct, I didn't have the right. But now that I know you know, and what's more, that it bothers you, I had to say something."

She crossed her arms, "Why does it matter to you, that it bothers me?"

He groaned, appearing to be at his wit's end. "Listen, Granger, I just wanted to do the damned right thing for once. If you want the memories back, you can have them. You and I both know its easier for the spellcaster of a spell to reverse it, especially for Obliviation."

Her look darkened and he sighed. She knew fully well how difficult it was to reverse an Obliviation spell. It had taken her a year of planning to figure it out for her parents. It was a painful enough thing to have done, but even more painful to undo and see how it had hurt them.

"I don't have months to waste on this, Malfoy. Are they even important?"

He shifted, and he looked strangely broken at the question. "I was bloody awful at the spell when I cast it, so it shouldn't take long to reverse. And I'm not really sure if you'd want them. That's up to you."

They sat in silence for a minute before Hermione prompted, "Well? Will you tell me what they are so I can decide if I want them?"

He frowned at her, and shook his head. Pushing her forgotten bills back at her, he stood from the table and grabbed his jacket. "No, I won't. You'll have to decide what scares you more—knowing, or not knowing."

He walked out of the bar quickly, leaving Hermione confused and uncertain in his wake.

* * *

"Hermione?" Ginny called as she opened the door to her room. The lights were off, so Ginny cast a tiny _lumos_ spell to illuminate where she stood.

Hermione rolled over in her bed, so that her back was facing the doorway. "I'm asleep," she called out softly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," Ginny whispered, "But we didn't see you at the bar. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I went back early. We must've missed each other," Hermione pulled her quilt close to her face. The last thing she had wanted was to see the others in the state she was in. Seeing Malfoy and talking to him about her memories had sent her over the edge emotionally and suddenly she'd reverted back to the way she'd felt at the end of the war.

Ginny moved to close the door, and Hermione heard Harry shuffle behind her. Some low whispering, and Harry walked into her room and sat on the side of her bed. His weight pulled the bed down, and she turned to look at him.

He didn't say anything, just held her gaze and offered his companionship. It was enough for her to feel the familiar prickle of tears.

"I'm too old to be acting this way," she murmured.

He laughed softly. "Never."

"How do you do it?"

He shrugged. "Silly question. How do you do it? You always seem so composed."

"I'm not," she hushed, "I just want everyone to think that."

"Same for me," he sighed. "We've been through so much, Hermione. It's only natural, that we'd get like this, sometimes."

She nodded, swallowing as a tear escaped. "But how have you stayed so happy? I feel like I'm always fighting for it."

He leaned towards her and smiled. "You guys make it easy."

Gesturing to the door, which was slightly cracked, letting some light in where Ginny stood, and then back to Hermione, where he placed his hand on her arm.

"I remember what and whom I love. It makes it easier."

* * *

Her letter was sent the next morning, at dawn when she rose. It was short and simple:

_Malfoy—_

_I wish to have my memories restored. Meet me at my flat this afternoon._

_HG_

His response was swift, and made her frown.

_Malfoy Manor would be easiest, but someplace neutral would suffice. Give me a day to prepare. Do not bring friends._

_DM_

She crumpled the letter up and threw it in her waste bin. Malfoy Manor was out of the question, as she tugged on the sleeve of her sweater that covered the permanent scar on her arm. But no friends? Exactly how dumb did he think she was?

* * *

Hey guys! This is my first fic in a long time, and moreover, my first Dramione fic! Please let me know what you think.


	2. The Middle

Harry Potter and all of the lovely characters-especially the dark, brooding ones-do not belong to me.

* * *

Hermione approached the doorway of Shell Cottage with hesitant anticipation. It had been easy enough to ask to borrow Shell Cottage for the weekend, and Malfoy had agreed easily. The secluded beach was the perfect place to spend a few days trying to recover her memories, but the ones she had of this place already tugged on her heartstrings. She left a flower at Dobby's grave and knocked on the door to the house.

Malfoy, who had arrived early to set up, answered the door. "Granger, good. I'm all ready."

She pursed her lips and walked past him, dropping her things on the couch. He had set up a chair with cushions and arranged on the table were a variety of herbs and potions.

"What's all this for?" She rounded on him.

"Nothing much. Just some dreamless sleep, and strong scents. Incase, you know. You need to be awoken from a memory."

He moved towards a small stool across from the chair he'd obviously set up for her.

"What, no pillows for you?" She joked as she sat down, only to be surprised by his stricken look.

"Didn't really think about it," He murmured.

Raising an eyebrow, she said nothing. After a beat of silence, she gestured for him to begin.

"Ah. Before we start, would you like something to eat? It might be better to have a settled stomach."

"I'll be fine. And stop doting, it's weird."

He frowned and cleared his throat. "Always direct, aren't we, Granger? No matter. You never have appreciated it when I've done something nice for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She snapped back, but suddenly felt cool hands working over her mind. He touched her almost gingerly, with hesitation, as if she were fragile. She could feel him tabbing the loose end he'd left, gently prompting it. Unraveling the first of a series of tightly wound memories, he tugged at the nearest one.

She closed her eyes, and let it envelop her.

* * *

Beginning murky at first, she heard flickers of voices—her own, and then Malfoy's. Fighting, clamoring, until she could make out the barest words.

"Obliviate me? You've got to be mad!"

"Hermione, please. You have to understand, it's the only way for us to be safe. I care too much—"

"You cowardly, two-faced git! You mean you care too little if you could even suggest something like this!" Hermione could barely recognize her own voice; it was so tainted with pure rage.

"Please," she heard Malfoy soften, and the picture of the memory came into view a little more. The two of them were close together, foreheads touching, his hands on her face. "I love you more than anything in this world. And if he's going to be stopped, then well, Harry is going to need you. The world needs you. You need to forget me."

Hermione watched herself sniffle and then break down, tears streaming. "No. No, absolutely not."

"Hermione… We have to. And I don't trust anyone enough to Obliviate us both. I'll have to do it myself. And don't worry about me helping the Dark Lord too much—I never had the stomach for that stuff, even before you came along."

She whimpered, and he kissed her. "We'll be lucky if we both survive this. I'd rather you not worry about me and focus on what's most important. This is not a sacrifice I'm willing to make, but we must do it anyways. I'll always love you Hermione, even if I forget."

"Draco," Hermione wiped a tear from his eye. "This is not the answer. We can do this, if we just fight it together."

She moved to get something from her bag, but as she her back was towards him, she heard him whisper softly.

"Obliviate."

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes in Shell Cottage. Taking the room in, smelling the lavender and sage placed on the coffee table in front of her, feeling the roughness of the worn chair she sat in. She let herself regain her senses, and finally let her eyes flicker over to Malfoy.

"What was that?"

He looked up from where he'd been sitting with his head in his hands. "What was what, Granger? I didn't exactly see what you saw."

"That… memory. Well, I suppose it was when you obliviated me?"

He sighed, and nodded. "How do you feel? Still not hungry?"

As if on cue, her stomach growled. She'd barely noticed how remembering had sapped her energy and left her famished. She remembered what a long process it had been for her parents to regain their memories, and how it had exhausted them.

"We can chat over dinner. I took the liberty of ordering Indian food tonight." He moved into the kitchen to a bag on the table.

"Oh, that's my favorite," she hummed, and widened her eyes when he looked back at her.

"Yes, I know."

Narrowing her eyes, she scooped some rice onto her plate. "So, you know my favorite food, my likes, dislikes. Am I really supposed to believe these are recovered memories? What if you planted them in my mind and then made it look like a botched memory charm?"

"That'd be a pretty elaborate and useless scheme, if you asked me. Don't know why I'd even bother." He took the spoon from her and dished out for himself. "Trust me, Granger, I didn't believe the memories any more than you do when I first discovered them, myself. Thought I was going utterly mental."

"And how did you come to discover the memories in yourself?" She quipped. "I only knew because of Madam Pomfrey."

"Well, when I was training in Occulmency to guard myself against the Dark Lord, I discovered a loose end in myself, actually. I really was bloody awful at Obliviating. The memory it revealed was most… interesting."

"Oh?" She looked at him over her forkful. "What was it?"

He waved a hand and went back to his dinner. "Another time. But it was convincing enough that I knew I had to hide it, so I strengthened my Occulmency shields. When the battle was over, I tried uncovering the memory. It's right hard to obliviate yourself, because once you start you being to forget what you're trying to forget so…"

"So, it was easy to reverse it, I gather?"

"Extremely. One tug and everything came undone. I didn't have the benefit of slowly remembering, it came crashing back all at once."

Hermione shuddered. Magic that impacted the mind was extremely fragile, and men had been known to go mad for less. She really wasn't certain what to believe, and nothing was making sense to her, but she gathered it was at least a year of memories they'd both forgotten.

But then… she was appalled and curious about these memories all at once. The way they'd been touching each other, and how they'd said they loved each other… well, it made no sense. And at the same time, it made complete sense. She felt like she was thinking two separate and opposite things at the same time, and both were true. It made no sense to the Hermione that was sitting in Shell Cottage. But it seemed so right to a smaller, long forgotten Hermione that was screaming at her own consciousness.

She bit her lip, and then it all came tumbling out. "I'm sorry, I just can't believe it. How could I love you? It makes no sense."

Malfoy tried hard not to look hurt, but pain flickered in his expression before he could stop it. Instead of coming up with a snarky comment, this sadder, lonelier Draco Malfoy shrugged and looked out the window.

It felt wrong not to see the proud, snotty Malfoy that she'd known in her childhood, but she supposed the war had done so many things to all of them. And clearly, whatever was in their past had impacted him deeply. She softened.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I'm just confused, that's all. It's a lot to take in."

He nodded, "You don't need to apologize, Granger. I'm only here to right what I wronged, nothing more. We don't owe each other anything else. Not even niceties."

She didn't know what to make of that. "Well, you started it. We could just go back to insulting each other," she said with a nervous laugh.

"I've had plenty of that," he stood, and with a flick of his wand, cleaned the table as he walked away.

Hermione watched him go, a strange mixture of fear and anticipation sitting in her stomach as she bravely faced her past.

* * *

As Hermione dreamt, stone steps solidified in her mind, and she felt a tendril of another memory unfold before her. This one came into focus faster than the previous, and she felt herself submerge into it.

She was sitting on the staircase in the main hall, right after the Yule ball had finished, weeping. Ron had just said some awful things to her, and the hallway had cleared out. Her dress, a floating soft delicacy, had deflated with her mood, but her hair was still tamed in what looked like effortless curls.

She heard a figure approach her from behind, and wiped her eyes.

"It's no good for pretty girls to cry all alone," she heard Draco Malfoy say, as he put a hand on her shoulder. Peeking at her face, he recoiled away from her, snatching his hand as if it had been burned.

"Granger?! Barely recognized you there. Where's Potter and the Weasel King?"

She laughed without mirth, "Sod off, Malfoy. I'm not in the mood."

Malfoy seemed to startle at this. "Well. You should really get back to your tower then."

"Careful there," she challenged, "I might begin think you have a heart."

"No one's ever going to accuse me of that," he snapped. "Don't you worry."

She gave him a sidelong glance, and then asked what had been plaguing her. "Did you really not recognize me?"

He coughed awkwardly. "Well, no. I didn't. Must've thought you were someone else without that bushy mass you call hair."

Hermione frowned, and touched a curl. "Well yeah, I suppose I look pretty strange, don't I?"

"Don't use my words to hurt yourself," he scoffed, "I will not play a part in your Cinderella fantasy."

She opened her mouth to question him but he beat her to it. "And before you retort, that's a perfectly well-known pureblood fairytale."

She crossed her arms and shivered, suddenly feeling the cold seeping into her skin from the stone staircase. "Whatever."

He glanced at her and frowned slightly. Taking the pocket square from his dress robes, he transfigured it into a warm, cashmere shall. Throwing it on her shoulders, he started to walk away, before turning back.

"Do not breathe a word to Potter about this. Just…" he sighed, "it seems like such a waste for you to be crying, when you look so… different. Get back to your dorm safely."

He muttered under his breath as he walked away, and Hermione was struck by the strangeness of Draco Malfoy, boy who had teased her for the longest time, had shown her kindness. Not a ton, albeit, but more than she thought he could. She stood, feeling warmer and grateful, and marched up the stairs with new feeling.

* * *

Hermione woke the next day and walked down stairs to make breakfast. By the time Malfoy walked in, she had made two stacks of pancakes and eggs. He blinked in surprise, and then scoffed.

"You didn't do this by hand, did you?"

She drew in a breath and then laughed sheepishly. "Old habits die hard? Hadn't even thought about a cooking charm."

He rolled his eyes and accepted his plate.

"It tastes better anyways," she sat down next to him with her own plate, "making it the muggle way."

"So you say," he commented, but she noticed how he seemed to savor the taste of the pancakes. Cooking charms couldn't recreate that, she was sure of it. Or at least, none of her cooking charms.

"I had a dream last night," she said offhandedly, "but it wasn't very… damning, I guess? I guess I'm kind of confused about why it was Obliviated too."

"Thinking every memory would be a make out session?" he raised an eyebrow.

She promptly turned beat red because no, she hadn't even considered some of the memories _would_ be make out sessions.

He chuckled. "Well, some are more boring, I do confess. I suppose you had the Yule ball memory, then?"

She nodded. "How did you know?"

"I could imagine, from your point of view, how it'd be rather… meaningless. But for me, it was significant. That's probably why I included it, as the start of the interactions between us that needed to be forgotten. And anyways, couldn't have you go off thinking I had a heart, now could I?"

She found herself smiling at how similar his comment was to the one in her memory. "It was, pleasant, I guess. You were nice to me."

He nodded, and divested himself back into eating. But she wasn't quite done yet.

"Why was it significant for you?"

"Well," he straightened, "I guess because it was the first time I noticed how beautiful you were."

Hermione blinked, utterly shocked, and watched him fork another pancake, without ceremony, and take a bite. She swallowed.

* * *

"You can quit at any time, Granger," Malfoy warned as they sat across from each other. "I'll have you know, I can't pick and choose when and where you remember certain things. It might be too much for you."

She pursed her lips at him, and he raised his hands back defensively.

"Look, I'm just saying. No harm in admitting you're not brave enough."

"Now you're just goading me."

She was rewarded with a wicked smile. "Too quick."

"Just do it Malfoy."

No sooner had she said it and then she felt his hands delicately inspecting her mind. Turning it over and _there_—another loose thread. He pulled. She closed her eyes.

Several memories flickered by, coming fast and all at once.

Sitting on the dock after being rescued from the black lake, towel around her shoulders, fear gripping her heart as she waited for Harry to emerge. A soft touch on her shoulder, so light no one around her could see, and a chocolate wafer was handed to her by Malfoy. She looked up, but he was looking away from her at the water.

"It's _Potter_, isn't it? He'll be fine."

He said it in a sneer, and he was gone immediately, but Hermione felt more assured by his comment than anyone else's.

And then her mind flipped and turned, the scene morphing into a deserted corridor, Hermione sneaking back to Gryffindor tower with two new books from the library. A nervous Malfoy, pacing. Startled, he looked up and scowled around.

"Who's there? I can hear you."

Hermione hid behind the corner and heard him shout _Expelliarmus_ towards her. Thinking it would be best to come clean, she rounded the corner, wand pointed at him.

"I'm just passing through, Malfoy." She hissed.

But she hadn't needed to say anything, because he lowered his wand once he saw her.

"Sneaking around, Granger? Would've thought you were too much of a goody-two shoes to have any fun," he snarled.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm more fun than you think."

"Oh? Do tell." He stepped closer to her, and Hermione swallowed. His angular face looked striking in the moonlight, and how could she not have noticed how his shoulders had broadened over the past year?

"Well," she attempted to hide the books she was carrying behind her, in an effort to look less studious. "I'm sneaking out at midnight, am I not? That's pretty wild."

Even as she said it, she knew it sounded more lame than she'd been going for. He smirked, and leaned up against the wall, cornering her. Using his wand to move her to the side, he exposed the book she'd been hiding behind her back.

"Not when sneaking out has to do with that. Unless, of course, it's the story about how Miss _fanny_ took a fancy to a _Richard_—"

She blushed furiously, "I do not read erotic literature!"

"I'm sure that's what you tell your friends, too."

"I mean it!" She huffed, "I would never—"

"Don't make promises you can't keep," he chuckled, and moved away from her. "Sooner or later, you're going to develop a book fetish. First you'll start inhaling the scent and then… who knows? Fancy a charm that turns a book into a wanker—"

Hermione slapped him at this, and he stepped away from her, startled. Embarrassed tears flushed to her eyes and she half stormed, half ran away, completely forgetting her book.

The next morning, she found it waiting for her on her desk in Transfiguration. A lavender flower was pressed between the pages with simple note was stuck inside.

_Sorry._

She hadn't believed he knew how to say sorry, but suddenly there it was. She wondered if he hadn't meant for their interaction to get out of hand. If perhaps, he thought he was flirting with her.

She shook her head at the color that rose in her skin. She was just being silly.

The memory faded and another rushed in right behind it, her mind working hard to make sense of what she was seeing. She felt herself gaining strength, even as she tumbled through the memories.

Hermione was sneaking out of the restricted section, still sometime during their fourth year, a book in hand. She had been doing research, presumably for Harry, while he was preparing for the various trials of the Triwizard Tournament. Darting between the book cases and keeping an eye over her shoulder, she didn't see Malfoy until she bumped into him. She yelped, and he cut her off by clasping a hand over her mouth.

"Shh! Do you want to get us both caught?" He hissed.

She tried to retort back but her words came out mumbles. He removed his hand and she seethed at him.

"I would have been perfectly fine if you hadn't shown up," she tutted.

He gave her a once over and smirked. "Why is it, that every 'wild' thing you do, has to do with books? Restricted section, eh, Granger?"

She pursed her lips and poked the badge on his chest that currently said Potter Stinks. "Why is it that everything you do is rude and childish, Malfoy?"

He frowned back at her, "Potter deserves it, what with all the fame he gets."

"That's not an excuse to be so mean."

He rolled his eyes at her, and said, "Well, what can I say? I can't exactly go around doting on him, now can I? I've got a reputation to preserve."

She snorted at this but was surprised by how different he acted towards her when Harry and Ron weren't around. Sure, he was snobbish and bitter, but he didn't snarl nearly as much, and was strangely candid.

Against her will, she noticed how close they were standing and how he smelled like expensive cologne. Blushing, she turned away slightly.

"That's still a dumb reason."

He shrugged. "And you? Why must you be so infuriating?"

"I'm not infuriating! What do I even do that bothers you?"

He leaned in. "Something to do with those sharp insults you throw right back at me. I can't exactly ignore those, now can I?"

She frowned, but as she started to respond he captured a lock of her hair between his thumb and finger. Admiring it for a minute, he let it fall back. She raised an eyebrow and he raised one mirroring her.

"Just wanted to know if it was as soft as it looks."

She could feel the back of her neck and cheeks grow warm. Quickly trying to divert his attention, she said, "What are you even doing here so late at night, Malfoy?"

"Studying, naturally."

"You study?" She giggled, trying to ridicule him but somehow coming off sounding more surprised than anything.

"Got to beat the brightest witch of our age somehow. I can't exactly have a mud—muggleborn running around smarter than me, now can I?"

He sounded like he was trying to sneer, but she noticed how he'd avoided using a slur against her. Narrowing her eyes at him, she straightened tall so she could get close to his face, hoping to intimidate.

"Is that why I infuriate you? Because you're constantly bested by someone who isn't a pureblood?" A smirk of pride flickered across her face.

He looked at her lips, and then his eyes met hers. Leaning down even closer so their faces were almost touching, he whispered, "Well, that's one of the reasons, certainly."

The look in his eyes rang every bell in her mind—he looked like he was about to kiss her. What was worse, she felt compelled to lift up taller to get a better angle. With a soft exhale, she felt her eyes close as she felt the lightest touch of his lips against hers.

And instantly, he was gone. Vanished from in front of her, from the entire library, leaving her slouched against the bookshelf wondering, _what have I done? And why?_

* * *

Her eyes fluttered open as she remembered the room her body was sitting in, at Shell Cottage. She heard Malfoy shift on his seat, and her gaze snapped over to him. Holding his eyes, she felt a strange mixture of nostalgia, anger, fear and… care, perhaps. Nothing made sense anymore. Her memories about what had happened their fourth year were swiftly turning over in her mind and being mixed with the new memories of her timid romance with Malfoy. It should have been more revolting to her—she felt strongly that she should be fighting this. But somehow, it was harder and harder to remain detached from the memories. The memories had become clearer each time, from the smoky and vague images she'd seen with the first one, to striking visions, even including landscapes and backgrounds. It made them all the more real to her, and it was impacting her emotions.

"So, what was it this time?"

She blinked. "Um. I suppose it was bits and pieces from our fourth year. It's just all very strange."

He nodded hesitantly. "I could barely believe it, myself."

"I just don't understand… I mean, I guess we were young and foolish, but it didn't do anything in the end. You were still a bully to us for the entirety of our schooling, I still hated you."

He clenched his jaw and was silent for a moment. "Yes, I know. I've been a right screw up. But you guys weren't perfect either—always sticking your nose in other people's business, getting me in trouble or hurt, and making fun of me behind closed doors. Don't think you're completely flawless."

Anger flared in her, "That certainly does not justify your actions! You were a complete prat for most of school, and then you went off and became a death eater—"

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he snapped.

"Don't I? I was _there_, Malfoy. I witnessed _everything_ you did. I can't even imagine you have a good bone in your body," she seethed.

He stepped close to her and narrowed his eyes and her self-satisfied smirk. Wrinkling his nose, he snarled, "Don't say things you'll regret later, Granger. You cannot possibly understand everything that happened. You're a fool for thinking otherwise."

With that, he turned on his foot and stormed out of the room. She continued to fume for another minute, pacing around the room.

"Who does he think he is? Bloody bastard. Bloody fucking death eater," she hissed to herself. "Telling _me_ I don't understand?"

With one final impulse of anger, driven mad by the intense emotions vying for dominance inside of her, she took off her slipper and threw it at the door, connecting with a thud.

* * *

Hermione sat in her room angrily, until she tired herself out. It was still the afternoon, but the fight and the exhaustion of recovering the memories forced her into bed for a quick nap. When sleep came, however, she was plagued with more memories.

A room developed in her mind, and suddenly she realized she was sitting on Malfoy's bed in his Slytherin dormitory. He laid opposite of her, shirt off and a light shade of stubble dotting his strong jawline. He'd obviously cast a _muffliato_ because they were speaking without whispering. His hand rested on her hip—and Hermione of the present pretended she didn't notice how it pleased Hermione of the past.

"Draco—can't you see? This is perfect!" She beamed.

"I'm not so certain. It sounds dangerous, and I don't want you to get caught by the Um-bitch," he said, frowning.

"But it's perfect, because _you_ are on the supervisory squad! You can keep them from figuring out about the Room of Requirement!"

"I don't know how long I'll be able to delay them, without looking like I'm doing it on purpose. It's a tricky thing, Granger."

She puckered her bottom lip, "Just a few months, that's all I ask. And I promise I'll make it worth your while."

"Oh?" He smirked, eyes glinting, "Do tell."

"Well… It's the Room of Requirement. I do suppose it might make a lovely meeting spot. For certain… activities."

He rolled her onto her back and pressed a kiss on her neck. "Hmmm, I can't imagine what kind of extracurriculars it would be useful for, Miss Granger. Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

She drew a breath at his next kiss, and flipped him on his back. "I don't know, it might be too much for a pureblood prince like you. Wouldn't want you to get sullied by the common touch," she teased, kissing a line down his stomach.

He chuckled, low and pleasant. "I don't think that's going to be a problem. I've found I prefer a certain someone's—" he made a low rumble as she pulled down his trousers and took him in her mouth, "I'm just going to shut up now."

"Finally," she smirked, looking up at him. He closed his eyes and ran a hand through her hair.

* * *

Hermione woke with a start, jumping out of bed and running into the living room, where Malfoy was placidly sitting, reading.

"What the bloody hell was that?!"

He looked up at her from over the edge of his book, and set it down. "What was what, Granger?"

"That!" She gestured wildly in the air. "Us! Together!"

"Please be more specific."

"You—we! I!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Had sex?"

Her eyes widened, and managed to turn even more red. "No! Well, yes. I suppose? Is it considered sex?"

"Ah, was it oral? I have many memories of going down on you."

"On me?!" She was even more incredulous. No one had ever—Ron certainly hadn't, thinking the idea was strange and unpleasant. She'd only given him a handful of blowjobs before they'd called it quits, but suddenly she had a memory of not only doing it but being good at it. And enjoying it.

"Oh well, if you want me to know what you're talking about, you'll have to tell me more, Granger. There were too many times to know which you're referring to."

"Multiple times?" She might faint. Scratch that, she would. If only the universe was merciful, perhaps the earth would open up and swallow her whole. Anything but to be here, sitting across from Draco Malfoy, someone whom she'd apparently been very sexually active with.

"Here, sit down." He pulled out a chair for her. "Would you like something to drink?"

She could only nod.

"I can get you a water or pumpkin juice?" He moved to the kitchen.

"Some whiskey, actually. Or tequila. Or vodka." She sunk into the chair. "And make it two shots, please."

He laughed, and complied. After she downed it in one go, she finally looked at him again. He scratched the back of his neck.

"I was wondering when you'd find out. I thought you'd suspected… but no. I'd hoped it wouldn't be until a bit later, actually. Didn't think you'd take to it well."

"You think?" She blinked at him. "I can't… I just don't understand."

"Did you think we'd only kissed?"

She contemplated it, and was truthful. "To be honest, I didn't really think about it. I barely saw us kiss, and the memory right before you Obliviated me… it just didn't seem quite real. I just… didn't expect…"

She shrugged, and let out a breath. "I suppose we had sex too? And here I'd thought I'd lost my virginity to Ron."

Malfoy scrunched his nose up at that. "Yes well, lucky that wasn't the case."

She threw him a dirty look, and then sighed. "It seems wrong, doesn't it? Like we've had our minds violated. Such important experiences forgotten. This is completely rewriting my life, you know."

He nodded. "I know."

"Was it the same for you?" She asked hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Was I as surprised? Yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I had a lot going on our sixth year, as you can remember. I'd obliviated us at the beginning of it, right after the Dark Lord tasked me with killing Dumbledore."

She nodded, feeling strangely sympathetic.

"But as I said before, I didn't Obliviate myself very well. There were a few loose ends, much more prevalent than yours was. I had the strangest memory of," he blushed furiously, looking away from her, "one encounter. It seemed too real to be a dream. And I started to notice you, all over again."

This piqued her interest. She sat up and leaned towards him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I. Just, noticed you, okay? Felt like maybe I'd missed something important," he shrugged, as sheepish as Malfoy could get. "I had too much on my mind that year. But between not having the strength to do what the Dark Lord tasked me to do, noticing how pretty a certain muggleborn witch was, and being tortured every now and then for disobedience—I didn't really know what to think. It's no wonder I got a little screwy in the end there, is it?"

She blinked, taking in the in his deeply personal response. "I had no idea."

"Yeah, I know," he frowned darkly.

"No, I mean," she reached out and touched his forearm, "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said what I said before. You were right—I didn't know what I was talking about."

He touched her hand, "I don't ask for apologies, either. I know what I did was terrible, and I don't ask for forgiveness. I just ask you to understand how troubled I was."

She nodded silently, closing her eyes. "For what it's worth—I don't think you were weak for not doing what Voldemort wanted you to do. I think it's because you have good in you, that's why you couldn't do it."

He smiled softly, not quite hiding the pain in his grey eyes. "That's what I try to tell myself, too."

He stood and exited the room, leaving Hermione mulling quietly over the events of the past several years, and how it had been terrible for both of them.

* * *

That was a long one! I hope you enjoyed-there's only one more chapter left now. Please let me know what you think, reviews are always appreciated! It was so exciting to write their past relationship in comparison to their current one.


	3. The End

Part Three

* * *

When she rose the next morning, she was relieved to not remember what she'd dreamt about, if she'd even dreamt at all. She'd been so bone-tired by the time she'd gone to sleep she wasn't even surprised. Recovering memories was exhausting work.

As she buttered herself toast she was struck by a strange realization. Her internal timeline was all over the place, inside her mind. Ground zero was flashing between the beginning of their time spent together at Shell Cottage, and new events in her memories. Did it start at their first tender encounter? What about their first kiss?

Shaking her head, she moved over to the couch and reclined back. Draco emerged from the downstairs bathroom, in only sleep bottoms and a towel around his neck.

"Oh, Granger. Sorry, didn't realize you were up."

He nonchalantly passed her by as he entered his room. She swallowed thickly, trying to ignore the way his toned torso looked even better in the present than it had in her memories.

It was the pesky memories, she rationalized. She didn't actually feel a certain way towards him, it was just that her mind had gone all screwy with him because of the events of the past few days. Once this was all over, they would be going their separate ways, completely forgetting this ever happened. This weekend only served one purpose: unravel her memories, so she had her full mind back, and nothing more was to be gained by it. She certainly was not returning to London with a crush on Draco Malfoy. And she knew he wouldn't be going with one for her, so really, it was pretty safe. No needless mess.

He returned to the living room in a minute, fully dressed, hair still damp and tousled. She looked pointedly at the carpet, her cheeks still red.

"So, shall we get started? It's already Sunday, we don't have much time left."

"What?" She asked, surprised. "Oh, I hadn't realized. I suppose you're right."

"Yes, and we haven't made a ton of head way. I do think, though, that if I'm able to reverse the spell enough today, the other memories will just come back to you in your sleep. Then we can leave and," he coughed, uncomfortable, "never see each other again, if that's what you'd like?"

She felt a strange twinge at the idea but nodded anyways. "Glad we're in agreement."

He tried to hide a grimace as she felt his hands on her mind again, unwinding another ball of tightly coiled memories.

* * *

Even more visions danced in, swimming together in her sight. They didn't space out in chronological order, instead—

In Umbridge's office, Harry sitting down being grilled while she watched, horrified, with Ginny and the others. Draco stood opposite her on the other side of the room, watching the entire scene play out, eyes flickering between her, Harry, and Umbridge. His expression was screwed up with pain, and he shook his head at her.

_Please_, she mouthed, eyebrows pulled together as she watched Umbridge react to having used up all the veritaserum.

_I can't, _he shook his head, mouth pulled back in a grimace even as his brow puckered. Sweat had formed by his temples, and he looked as if he was being strangled—torn by two worlds. She knew he was right—if he bailed them out now, they still wouldn't last a minute fighting against everyone else. Umbridge was too powerful, and even with Draco's help they might not get out of it safely. She knew with confidence he'd tried his damnedest not to have this situation happen, delaying it for months now, but it was the inevitable end.

Widening his eyes, he looked at her with utter horror as she heard Umbridge suggest the use of the crucio curse on Harry to find out more about Dumbledore's Army. Hermione's head was muddled by fear and anxiety, but suddenly Draco did the most ridiculous movement. So subtle that no one else would understand, he pretended to trot.

She let out a half gasp, half laugh. All eyes turned to her, and instinctively she caught on to what Draco meant. "Tell her, Harry! If you won't, I will!"

"What do you mean?"

Hermione stuttered, and swallowed her nerves. "About Dumbledore's secret weapon."

She knew, a little uncertain but strengthened by the confidence that Draco was on her side, that this would work out. He knew exactly what he was suggesting—bringing Umbridge out to forest, to meet the centaurs. Because she was a part of the ministry, they'd probably have a complaint or two for her. And she was comforted by the fact that Draco and the others would be the ones watching over the rest of her friends. She knew they'd 'miraculously' be able to hex them and escape. They wouldn't realize that Draco was actually letting them go easily, so they all would be able to finish what they started.

Another memory shimmered into existence as the first faded away.

It was back to sometime during their first year, after their first brief kiss. Malfoy had hunted her out, teased her into a broom closet, and snogged her senseless. After some time, they broke away and she pushed a finger against his chest.

"Exactly what is this, Malfoy? Just earlier today you were insulting us, and now, what?"

He made a move to kiss her again, but when she backed away from him he groaned. "I don't bloody know? Really, Granger, I just felt like snogging you?"

"But aren't I everything you hate?" She countered, narrow eyes. "I will not kiss a boy who calls me a _mudblood_."

He stifled another groan. "Bullocks, Granger. I don't know. All I know is I don't care—I just want this, and I know you do too."

He kissed her strongly, and she melted a bit, before straightening once more. Laying down the ground rules, she said, "No more name calling."

"Deal. But only for you—I can't go around being nice to Prince Potter and the Weasel King."

"Fine," she rolled her eyes. "But be a bit nicer?"

His kiss was an affirmation.

"Oh—and no snogging other witches."

He raised an eyebrow at this. "Jealous, are we?"

"I don't share. I don't care if you want to stop—but I don't do sharing."

"Catching feelings, Granger?" He smirked, "How very dangerous of you."

"Not at all," she snarked back, and kissed him full on the lips. What worried her, though, was that it felt like a lie when she said it.

* * *

Hermione mulled around the kitchen for lunch, brewing herself a cup of tea. Draco sat at the table, sipping his own coffee, staring at her silently when he thought she wasn't looking.

She sighed and took a healthy gulp. "So, it's beginning to become a clearer picture in my mind. We started… seeing each other in fourth year, and continued into fifth year? And then?"

"Over the summer, when I became a death eater, I realized we needed to part. I made quick work of it, because I knew you'd protest. You thought I could join your side of the war, and I did too for a while."

He seemed to sink into himself, as he glanced at his arm where the dark mark was still present. "Everyone in my world was pressuring me into it. At first I thought I could be an informant, tell you everything they were planning. But then," He shuddered. "Then I realized I didn't stand a chance. And if I wanted to protect you, no one could know we ever existed."

It all felt so tragic, it made her want to cry. She took another sip of her tea and rested it on the counter, trying to steady herself.

"I see."

He nodded wordlessly.

"And after? You uncovered your memories and then what?"

"You were with Weasley. I…" His voice broke, "didn't want to hurt you anymore."

He looked at her with mournful eyes and all the sudden it clicked in her mind.

"You're in love with me." It was a statement, not a question.

He looked down at the table, saying nothing.

She gasped, like he'd slapped her. She stalked towards the table, accusatory. "You're _still_ in love with me. Merlin."

He looked away but nodded anyways.

"And what? You thought by restoring my memories that maybe I'd come to love you again, too?" She scoffed, anger suddenly rushing in. "How dare you. How dare you expect that of me. Not only did you violate my mind, but now you expect me to forgive you for it. Worse—you expect me to be sympathetic to you!"

She slammed her tea on the coffee table, her emotions escalating. "You've been feeding me sob stories this entire time! Hoping it'd win me back. And it almost worked! But seriously, Draco, we're not children anymore. You had your chance, once, long ago. And you ruined it. I don't give second chances."

She stormed over to her bag in her bedroom and started packing it. How dare he. He had violated her mind. And now he wanted to play another game with her! Her feelings in tatters, she moved around the room in a flurry.

Nothing made sense anymore. Her old feelings towards him had resurfaced, and she had to admit she cared about him. But the hurt, the pain, the betrayal of what he did to their memories—it was strong, too. How had he thought it was okay for him to be the only one to decide what happened to them? Didn't he ever think, ever consider, that maybe she'd loved him enough to at least try and stay together? That perhaps, she'd loved him so much she wanted to make that sacrifice?

Hermione kept her back to him but heard him standing in the doorway. As she prepared to disapparate, she heard him speak.

"Hermione. I did not even dare to hope you would still love me. You're right and," he shifted his weight but remained firm, "I am truly sorry."

With a loud _crack_, she was gone.

* * *

Hermione laid in bed for two days straight. On Wednesday, Ginny sat on her bed and plaited her bushy hair into a braid.

"I'm here for you, you know." Tucking her in, Ginny gave her arm a quick squeeze and left the room.

Hermione rolled back over and shut the door with a quick flick of her wand.

* * *

She thought of her mother, right after she'd had her memories restored.

"Hermione… why? Didn't you ever consider that we'd rather die loving you than live never having known you?"

She closed her eyes, fresh tears behind her eyes.

* * *

A week passed and bled into another. Hermione got up and went to work each day, dark circles ever more pronounced on her face. Even as she tried to ignore it, and fended off questions and tending from Ginny, there was something that kept plaguing her mind. Her timeline had reset itself firmly at to her time at Shell Cottage. No matter how hard she tried, it stubbornly resisted. Perhaps it would reset to her promotion? But it didn't. Or when she finally bought her car?

Weeks faded into a month, but somehow, she couldn't stop thinking of her life as before and after that weekend with his piercing grey eyes.

* * *

There was one memory that kept plaguing her. Most had all but unfurled themselves to her, and she had countless images of her and Draco, sneaking around the school, snogging and more, laughing and fighting. Tender moments, passionate moments, inspirational moments, all mixing together in a cacophony of sights and sounds. But one memory from the present continually made her stop and think.

At first she had thought it was a dream, from the one night at Shell Cottage that she hadn't dreamt about a memory. But then it became more and more clear that it had been a hazy awakening she'd had in the middle of the night, her eyes barely opened and consciousness fading in and out.

Draco had entered the room and sat on the edge of her bed, light as anything, just for a moment. Removing the book still stuck in her hand that she'd fallen asleep to, he closed it and placed it on her bedside table. He'd brushed her hair away from her face, and touched her cheek lightly.

"After tomorrow, once we leave," Draco had whispered, "I shall miss you forever. But I couldn't let you and Potter have all the fun, being noble martyrs, now could I? This was my sacrifice—for you, and for the world."

With his statement, he had kissed her softly on the forehead and turned to leave. But she had raised her hand and caught him by the sleeve as he began to walk. Looking back at her, she'd seen the most tender and broken smile.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

* * *

"Ron didn't mean it, Hermione!" Ginny ran after her, exiting the bar and out into the snowy street.

Hermione wipe the angry tears from her wind-roughed red cheeks. "It doesn't matter. I don't care."

"Hermione," Ginny pleaded. "He just misses you—and he's drunk. He doesn't know what he's saying. I'm sorry!"

"You don't have to be sorry for him, Ginny. And it's okay—I know everyone is thinking it too. That I'm fucked up."

"We don't think that at all!" Ginny protested, "No one thinks that. We just want to see you happy."

"I am happy," she fought back. But saying it out loud only brought her to the full realization.

"I'm not happy." She blinked. Turned slowly, looking back at Ginny. "Why am I not happy?"

Ginny shook her head. "I don't know."

Hermione just continued to blink, long and slow. "I can't keep living my life like this."

"No, you can't."

She nodded simply, words no longer conveying enough meaning for her. She felt numb—she'd purposely been numbing herself to the world the past months. Trying to reject it all, forget it all.

"I'm going home," she announced.

"I'll go too," Ginny offered, wrapping her hands around Hermione's arm.

"No, you stay here. Enjoy spending time with everyone. I need… time to think."

Without waiting for a response, she shrugged Ginny off and marched away. She needed to be alone, to think about everything. In the silence, she listened to herself for once.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione emerged from her room, dark circles under her eyes.

"Want some lunch?" Ginny cast a quick charm over their pantry when Hermione nodded. Eating in silence, she sighed when she saw Ginny peek at her for the fourth time.

"What?"

"Um, well. I totally understand if you don't want to talk… but we're all worried, Hermione. I'm sorry about last night, but we need to talk about Shell Cottage. What happened there? Ron said you even left your favorite blazer."

She shrugged and kept chewing her sandwich. "I don't know. I… Well, I rediscovered most of my lost memories. Remember, the ones I mentioned to you a long time ago in Hogsmeade?"

"Oh, yeah. I know how much it troubled you. But, what were they?" Ginny asked hesitantly.

"A whole load of horse shit," she mumbled. At Ginny's persistent look, she reformed. "Well, I guess Draco and I had some sort of a relationship, during fourth and fifth year."

Ginny gasped, and Hermione flinched, expecting shouting. When it didn't come, she glanced over at her friend, only to be shocked by the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Ginny?"

"Oh, Hermione!" Ginny flung her arms around her, "Finally! I knew it, I knew that those were the memories you'd lost!"

"What?" She asked dumbly. "You knew?"

"Well, kind of. Not really, but seriously—you guys weren't nearly as sneaky as you thought you were! I suspected, especially with the way I'd catch you guys staring at each other across the room."

"You knew, and you didn't say anything?" Hermione strangled out.

"I tried! But Hermione, you looked so lost for weeks after he did it. After he Obliviated you. Staring off into space, drifting through classes. I made a comment about him and you didn't react like you had before, and I realized what happened. I had to keep quiet, I knew it had to have been a hard decision."

Hermione blanched, uncertain what to say.

"I hadn't realized you both had been Obliviated, though. I didn't really understand until a few months ago, when you confessed about the forgotten memories to me. So now what? What will you and Draco do?"

"What will we do?" Hermione repeated, still shell shocked. "Um, nothing?"

"Nothing? Hermione, really? You can't be serious."

Anger flashed through Hermione. "I am! I'm dead serious. I don't want anything to do with someone like him."

"Why?"

She opened her mouth to respond but found she didn't really have a good answer. She had done to her parents exactly what he had done to her. Made a decision. Reversed it. Tried to move on. Treaded lightly. Apologized. Tried to do the right thing. He'd been clear from the beginning that he didn't expect her to fall back into bed with him, hadn't he? But she'd just thrown it back in his face.

"I don't know," she finished lamely.

Ginny smiled softly at her. "I'm sure it must be devastating to realize your life is different than what you thought it was. I'm so sorry, and I'm here for you. And no one expects you to be the same after something like this. None of us are the same after the battle. But I do hope you'll give it the proper thought, and not just react to the emotions of the situation."

"I just don't understand, Ginny," and suddenly she was weeping, desperately drying her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper. "How could he do something like that? Why am I so hurt? And why do I still feel this way, about him?"

Because there, settled deep in her heart, was the truth of it all. With her regained memories, she had remembered the way she felt about him. She loved him.

Ginny shushed her, and brought her in close for a hug. Patting her hair, she murmured, "It makes complete sense that you feel this way. You never got to experience the anger and betrayal of those final moments. But Hermione… you have unfinished business with him. That much is very clear."

Hermione wiped another tear from her eyes and hiccupped. "I can't. I don't know how."

"You can, and you will," Ginny pulled away, gripping her shoulders fiercely. "You're the brightest witch of our age, remember?"

* * *

It took her another week to muster up courage. It would be just a letter, she rationalized. Nothing more. Just a quick thing, asking if he wanted to grab coffee. Should she apologize? What would they talk about? She didn't know how to move from here, and what worried her even more was she didn't know what he was thinking.

But every time she sat down to write it, she couldn't put pen to paper and say anything, never mind what needed to be said. After another afternoon spent agonizing, she knocked on Ginny's room. Harry, who had all but moved into the flat, presumably because his and Ginny's plan to move in together had been delayed by Hermione's months long meltdown, answered the door.

"Oh, hey Hermione. What's up?"

"Nothing much," she embarrassedly noticed how his shirt was buttoned out of order, keying her in to what he and Ginny were doing. "Just wanted to let you guys know I'm headed to the Leaky Cauldron."

"Oh, well, we can join you if you'd like?"

"No, don't bother." She smiled, "Enjoy your afternoon, you two."

Quickly fluttering out of the flat, she left them to their peace. Perhaps it would be better this way, going on her own. A quick bus ride later, and she arrived at the small London dive, quietly secluded and enchanted so Muggles wouldn't find it. Breaking out a pen and paper, she sat down with a cider and tried to will herself to find the words.

After a few minutes of continuing to struggle—which really wasn't like her in the slightest—she glanced up when she heard someone walk through the door. And was met with the image of Draco Malfoy. He stood confidently, walking over to the bar to grab a beer, and turned when he felt her eyes on him. Paling slightly, he looked away from her pointedly.

It was now or never, she realized. Fate didn't hand you someone so easily every day, now did it? Her body moving on its own accord, she walked over to the bar. He turned to look at her, frowned, and looked away again.

"Malfoy," she greeted.

"Granger," he nodded.

"What, um," she paused, taking a deep breath, "what are you doing here?"

He didn't look at her when he spoke. "Getting a beer, naturally."

"Hmm, yes. Sounds good."

"Yes, that is what people do in pubs," he spared her a glance, eyebrow raised, haughty as ever.

"I got a cider," she supplied awkwardly. She partially wished she could melt into the floorboards, but stayed persistent because she was a Gryffindor, after all.

He sighed as the bartender handed his drink, and gestured with his head towards a secluded corner. "I suppose you're not just here to make dumb comments, then? Shall we go sit?"

"Yes, please." She nodded gratefully, gathering her belongings from her table.

When they had both sat down, he regarded her as he took a sip. "So?"

"Well. Um," she cursed herself for being so bloody uncomfortable.

"Out with it, Granger." He was perfectly composed and reserved, not even showing a hint of what he was feeling.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," the words tumbled out. "I've been sorry. These past few months. I just… I had to process it all. It was so much."

He set his drink back on the table with a tired nod. "While I appreciate your apology, as I've said before, it's unnecessary."

"No, it isn't," she said firmly. "You deserve to hear it. I shouldn't have reacted so poorly to everything."

"It was war. We both did things we aren't proud of."

"Yeah but…" She pursed her lips. "I'd like to be more than that now. The war's over. We won—we're safe. I'd like to start doing things I'm proud of."

She saw the faintest glimmer in his eyes. "Oh?"

Gaining confidence, she smiled gently. "Yeah. I think… I think I'd like to be happy, again."

"How do you propose to do that?" he asked quietly, hesitantly. The moment stretched between them, fragile and soft, and she felt her timeline shift once more. Ground zero moved to the look in those grey eyes, ever piercing, ever hopeful.

She touched his hand. "If you let me, I'd like to show you."

Her timeline moved around a lot after that. Everything they did was in seconds—second first date, second first kiss. Second first time she slept over in his bed. But first first joint apartment, and first first baby. Her timeline began and ended with the important things.

_The moment that I remembered—that I loved you._

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A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed! I loved writing this so I'd love to hear what you thought about it! I'll be posting more Dramione stories soon, so see you in the future


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